


A Multitude of Sins

by winged-things (damedeleslac)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Cats, Family, Future Fic, Prostitution, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damedeleslac/pseuds/winged-things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce finds Selina</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Multitude of Sins

Disclaimer: Not mine, etc...

 

* * *

 

 

 

A Multitude of Sins  
(This isn't one of them.)

 

 

     She'd always thought if anyone was going to find her, it wasn't going to be Bruce.  
Gordon or Bullock, sure. They're cops and what she's doing is a crime. But they haven't recognised her yet. Not with her hair dyed a darker shade of violet and slicked back, with enough of her legs on show to distract both men (though for different reasons).  
The criminals she's not worried about. There's no-one left who's old, sane or low to the ground enough to know who she used to be. And the one's who are, can't see past who and what she is now.

  
And with Bruce gone only god knows where (probably to some weird training thing that he put all the planning in how to get there, and none into getting out), there's only Alfred left to care how she gets seen. Or who she gets seen as.  
Selina's almost relieved that Alfred has never seen her the way she is now.

     But it is Bruce who finds her.   
Driving one of his ridiculously expensive cars the wrong way down a one way street, and using a tone she knows he learnt from the damned butler to tell her to get the car.  
Or he'll send Alfred after her.

The only reason, the only one, that makes her get in the car, is that it's raining.  
And the place she's staying this week has a less than reliable supply of electricity, hot water and heating, whereas Wayne Manor has an over abundance of all three.  
The cats can fend for themselves for one night.

<><><><><><><>

Alfred 'tuts' when he sees her; mostly about the number of ribs that he can see, than her state of (un)dress or the puddle of water forming around her feet.  
He's more disappointed in Bruce not giving her his sweater, than where the location Bruce picked her up from implies. (More than implies, Alfred isn't stupid. He might not have seen her at work, but they both know what it is she does for a living nowadays.)

Bruce shows her to her room. _Her room_.  
She's been up-graded to a suite in what she'd mentally labelled as the _family wing_ of the house. Half of the knick-knacks she'd pocketed and put back when she was younger fill the flat surfaces, including nine carved cat figurines on a table near the doors out to the balcony, grouped around a pot of catmint.

     Bruce has never had that sort of humour, nor the green fingers.  
(Bruce's sense of humour can be found in the drawer full of pyjamas covered in French poodles.)

The hot water is even better than she remembered. The towels softer. The tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches more filling. (Selina had forgotten that butlers move withe the same type of stealth as cats do.)  
And the poodle pyjama's are some of the most comfortable things she's worn in years.

<><><><><><><>

"Why," Selina put the cup down, spreading her hands flat against the tabletop to stop them from shaking, "Why do I have a room here, with clothes and everything?"  
"Because you're family miss." Alfred poured more tea into her cup; Oolong something or other, she only drank it when she was at the manor.  
"People pay me to have sex with them." She's surprised by how steady her voice is, "Sometimes they aren't very nice."  
Alfred stood and got a biscuit tin from a top shelf in the pantry.  
"I know they aren't, miss," He pried the lid off the tin, offering her the chocolate dipped shortbread that was inside it, "I paid some of the really not nice ones to go away."  
Selina dropped one of the biscuits. It broke into several pieces and scattered across the floor.  
"And the ones that wouldn't take the money," Alfred sat back down, putting two biscuits on his saucer, "Found other incentives to leave you alone."

     There'd been a body found in the river last year; a man who'd put five or six of the girls Selina knew into hospital beds. Someone had broken both his arms and a couple of ribs, smashed his teeth in, and then pushed him into the water to let him drown.

Selina put her hands back around her tea cup. "I had, I have reasons for..."  
"Do they stop you from picking up a phone, and let us know you were still alive?" She winced at his disappointed tone, "I've come to realise that there are very few things that you, or Master Bruce could do, that would stop me from being there if you needed me."  
"So you'd defile the Wayne name by associating with a common prostitute?" Selina challenged.  
Alfred slammed the lid onto the biscuit tin, making it clang.  
"Prostitute-smostitue!" He snorted, "There's never been anything common about you, ever. And as for defiling the _Wayne_ name, the Wayne Industries board members have got that covered."  
"Carlyle Grieves." Selina fake coughed, before sipping her tea.  
"Really?"  
"Try calling him _Mr Fancy-pants_ the next time you see him," Selina stole one of Alfred's biscuits, "Man owns more frilly knickers than I do."  


 

 


End file.
